


The Confessional is Open

by FoxesandPriests (Clara_Oswin_Oswald)



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: Even though it's a really fucking good ending, F/M, I just watch their scenes over and over again, I refuse to believe it ends like that, I've seen them like 20 times, Wish Fulfillment, it's a problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 17:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18969952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clara_Oswin_Oswald/pseuds/FoxesandPriests
Summary: 540 days. Several ruined pillow cases. She's had fucking enough of that, thank you very much.





	The Confessional is Open

**Author's Note:**

> There is an APPALLING lack of fic in this fandom, so I thought I should put my money where my mouth is and just write one. I just literally can't think about anything other than Fleabag, so I wrote a thing. Maybe'll write some more if the mood strikes, but so far, this is all I got. I'm just so completely in awe of the writing and their chemistry, and I'm basically losing my goddam mind, so I had to write this.

She woke up the next morning in an empty bed, clutching the pillow that smelled like him. She opened her bleary eyes to see the mascara stains on the white cotton. 

“Shit.”

She lies there for a long time, trying to remember a dream that was fading. He was in it (I mean he’s always in it). But there was something else, too. Like an omniscient presence or…

“When you’re trying to forget the man you love, who happens to be a semi-celibate priest, you often wake up feeling jealous of God.” The void in her chest feels ten times bigger than it had before.

“Well, better crack on.” 

She gets out of bed.

 

+

 

Exactly 540 days have gone by since she saw him. Since he walked away from her. He made her a promise.

“It’ll fade.”

 It hadn’t. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m still having lots of sex. To be fair, it’s bad sex. Because after you had the best sex of your life, and then the VERY best sex of your life with a man that you actually, y’know, feel something for, it’s, well…”

She turns back to the green, wooden door. The sign “Confession today from 12-4” in his godawful cheery handwriting. She takes a deep breath and opens the door. There’s no one else in the sanctuary, thank God. I mean, don’t actually thank him, because he’s taken away the one, good-

Nope. Not gonna do that. She opens the curtain, steps inside, and sits down. 

 Is he there? How the fuck do people tell if the shop is open for business?

 “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned?”

 “Are you asking me or telling me?”

 There. His voice. It washed over her like sunshine after the rain. She heard him huff out a chuckle.

“Sorry sorry, um. What is your sin, my child?” _Don’t give up the game._

“I-well, I fell in love with this priest-“ Too late. Oops. “And he loved me, too. And he promised me that it would fade. And it hasn’t. And I still wank about him almost every night, and my sister is already getting remarried and happy, and I’ve been trying SO hard, I really have, to be any sort of positive about the whole situation. And I’ve had A LOT of sex. So many orgasms. But I can’t seem to stop thinking about this priest, and the way he kissed me, which was so fucking hot. And the way he was with me, which was so fucking perfect, and just today, my pillow was covered for the 500th time in make-up stains because I fall asleep every night crying. Because my fucking heart is broken. So…” Well, that had just sort of, come out of her. “Tell me what to do, Father.” She stopped, and listened to his ragged breathing, on the other side of the partition. Was he…? “Sorry, are you crying?” 

“No.” Petulant. He was.

She stood up and walked out of her side of the confessional. She opened his door, and laid eyes on him for the first time in eighteen months. He-God, he looked like a wreck. Maybe worse than her. He was pale, and shaking, and his head was in his hands. Huge sobs wracked his tired frame. Suddenly, the sound of Pam walking out from the back office shocked her into action. She pushed his head up, sat on his lap, and shut the door.

“What the fuck’re you-“ She all but slams her hand down on his mouth. His eyes widen and he realizes the precarious situation they’re in. But suddenly they’re staring into each other’s eyes again. Soul to soul. 

And shit, he really does look terrible. His eyes are red, not just from crying, but from several sleepless nights. She can smell the liquor on his breath. It’s, well, pretty foul actually. She’s sat on his lap, and can feel his erection rising by the second. She looks at him, like, “Really?” He shrugs. That’s fair.

They hear Pam exit. She cautiously opens the door. Empty again. They’re alone. He muffles some words under her hand. His breath is hot, and very erotic.

“Sorry, what?” She pulls away. 

“I said, ‘You could at least buy me a drink first.’” She snorts.

“Oh, fuck off, Father.” And he knows. She removes herself from his lap so she can properly face him. He grabs her wrist. She can’t face him. She can’t, because her heart is about to make it’s way up her esophagus and into her mouth and he’s stroking her wrist like she’s something precious and delicate, and she can’t, all at once it’s too much-

“Tea?” Shocked, she looks at him again. He shrugs. Damn, he’s fucking adorable. She nods.

“Okay.” They both look down at her wrist, where he’s holding her. He breaths out for a long time, and then in one motion, releases her and starts walking towards the back office. She starts following him without a second thought. Looking at the back of him. At the back of his neck.

_I’ve missed that beautiful, beautiful neck. Are his shoulders more hunched than before?_

“Stop it. I can feel you doing it.” _Shit_.

“Do you want a drink instead? I don’t have any G&T, because, well, I don’t. But I have-“

“No thank you, Father. I’d like to keep a clear head.” He looks at her with just everything in his eyes. Pain, that one’s obvious, and guilt, regret, yes. And love. So much love. He’s suffering. _Shit, love really is awful, isn’t it_. He glances at the bottle in his hand.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He sits down in the closest chair, and puts his face in his hands. “Fuck.” It comes out like a sigh. Or like a prayer. She stands across from him. And all of a sudden, he’s crying again. Quietly, like he wants so badly not to, but just can’t control it. She goes over to shut the door. He jolts up, tears staining his face. She walks towards him again.

“Oh, um sorry, I just wanted to make sure we weren’t disturbed. I mean, look at you. This would be one for the parish newsletter for sure.” And he’s looking at her. Like a drowning man looking at land. Like a priest looking at God.

“I-”

“No. Don’t. I have some things to say to you first. Bit of a speech. Um.” She looks up at him. And looks down. _Can’t do it._ Can’t look at his eyes. They’re on fire. “I was in love with you. You were the first person. Ever. I mean, I didn’t even think I was capable, and then you and your fucking foxes, and your fucking blasphemy and G&T’s and quaker meetings and confessions and sex, oh my god the sex. And you-you pulled things out of me, like things I didn’t want to share with anyone and then there was you and then there was that wedding, and Father, I knew when you gave your sermon that you chose God, I knew, and I just-I sent a fucking FOX after you, after you had made your choice. That was your fucking choice, Father. That choice broke my heart, and I just can’t-if we can’t have sex, we can’t have sex, I mean I might need to occasionally pop out for a quick-but I need to be near you. That’s-yeah, um, that’s a fact of my life now, I guess. Because I’m fucking sick of going to bed crying and waking up crying, and having dreams about you-”

“Stop.”

“NO, fuck you for, for…what?” She looks up, and he is staring at her with hunger, and fire and divine fucking light and jesus if this is what believing in god is, she might have to reassess-

“Kneel.” His voice, his fucking-NO, wait. She has a better idea.

“You kneel.” Her turn. Shock dances in his eyes, then recognition. Acceptance. He stands up, takes a few steps forward, and slowly sinks to the ground, one knee at a time. He’s kneeling before her. Kneeling at the alter of her forgiveness, because they both know, both knew from the moment she walked into that confessional, she wanted one thing. Him. 

She walks towards him. His arms are hanging by his side. He stares at her, open mouthed. Totally vulnerable. _Eighteen months is a fucking long time_. She kneels in front of him. She cradles his face, like he’s something precious. He is. She strokes his cheeks.

“I still fucking love you. I think-I mean if the last 540 days are any evidence, I will love you for a long time, whether you’re in my life or not. It hurts how much I love you. I love you.” Goddammit, now she’s crying. And he breaks. Like a dam giving way. His chest caves in.

“Please don’t leave me. Please. I-I can’t-”

“Shhh. This is all part of God’s-or whoever’s-plan. At least, I think it is. Who fucking knows?” And he’s crying and laughing at the same time, her beautiful priest. Her stupid, funny, nerdy, unbelievably hot priest. She grabs his neck, and places her forehead against his. He shivers at the contact. She closes her eyes. And they stay there, while his breathing evens out. She feels something on her face. Her eyes open to find him dragging his thumb down her lips. Gently. His other hand comes up to weave his fingers through her hair. He makes a little noise at the back of his throat. 

“For fucks sake, please fucking kiss me.” He sits back, all contact lost. He stares at her for an uncomfortably long time. Then he laughs. Really fucking laughs. It sounds a little hysterical, like it’s been waiting to escape for fucking months. She smiles, and starts to laugh, too. It feels so good. Their laughter tapers off, and they are both out of breath, staring into each other’s eyes again, this time with utter joy. His hands come up again, cupping her face, and he leans in. It’s gentle, like their first. He’s savoring her mouth, like it’s their last. She opens her mouth, and suddenly it’s hot, it’s carnal. _It’s better than my dreams_. His hands move to her body, pressing and touching her ribs, her hips, her ass, and pushing her into him. Like he wants to meld together, like he wants to get closer to her, closer than humanly possible. She is drowning, and she does not want to come up for air.

She feels his erection, pressing into her. Still kissing him, she pushes him back, lying on top of him, pinning him down. Never letting him go. She pulls up the skirt, and with a skill that can only come from years of practice, she maintains their connection while undoing his belt buckle. She quickly puts her hand down his pants and grabs his cock. He moans into her mouth.

“Jesus, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

She pulls up her dress, and pulls down her pants. She gives him one last kiss, and then millimeter by millimeter, she sinks down onto him. Tight, wet, glorious. He grabs her hips, and throws his head back. _Fuck, it feels so good._ She starts slow, weaving her hands in her hair. She’s putting on a little show for him, to be sure. _This is what you were missing, Father._ She finds a steady rhythm. It’s slow. He bucks, and she falls forward onto her hands, landing on either side of his head. They are nose to nose now, in a battle for control. She searches his eyes for any hint of hesitation, and he searches her eyes for peace.

She picks up the pace. He feels so good inside her. So right, so solid. She’s so near the edge, she’s standing on the cliff. It’s his eyes that send her over. Her orgasm tumbles over her, like falling and hitting the ground at the same time. She moans, and it’s something from deep within her. He grabs her body, and holds her, like he needs something to anchor him to this world. He thrusts into her a few more times before climaxing, and she feels him come inside her.

“Fuck fuck fuck. Oh, god jesus help me.” He thrusts one more time, and then slowly comes to a stop

They take a minute like that, her on top, and his arms wound tight around her. Then:

“Well, shit Father. I don’t think Jesus or God is going to come to your rescue from this particular position.” He laughs, still inside her.  


“Yeah, fuck you, too. Tease.” She sits up and dismounts him. She looks at him and his face is covered in lipstick. His hair looks like a fucking disaster. She’s sure she doesn’t look any better.

They take a moment in companionable silence to clean themselves up. When the priest looks in the mirror he goes from horror to wonder in the blink of an eye.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” She laughs as she pulls her knickers on over her shoes. “No, really.” She looks up. “What the fuck are you doing to me? How have you so expertly ruined everything I’ve built, but made my life so much better? I can’t I can’t seem to get you out of my head. You’re always there, like a beautiful nightmare. It’s gotten so bad, that I miss my dreams without you. I actively wish for night terrors to see you. How-?” He trails off. “Ah, fuck it.” He walks over to the rack to hang his vestments.

“My best friend died.”

“…What? Just now?”

“No, actually. A couple-few years ago now. That’s why the guinea pigs. We started the cafe together, and I gave her Hillary. She fucking loved that thing. And then she died. By accidental suicide. Because I fucked her boyfriend.” He looks at her with an odd sort of expression. 

“Why’re you-”

“And those times, the ones when I disappear, I’m talking to my friends. I know that sounds fucked, but it’s like the way you talk to God, I guess.”

“Wait, what-”

“I’m telling you these things because I badly _badly_ want you in my life. More than I’ve ever-and I know you wanted to know. So, there.” 

“Okay.” He inhales. “I can’t go back again. You’ve completely fucked my life, for good this time. So, I can’t-” He exhales. “I think I might actually die if I can’t be with you so” He gestures as if that explains everything. Which it pretty much does. “What time is it?”

“Uhm, 5:00.”

“Fuck me, I’ve missed the rest of confession.”

“Well, if you insist, Father.”

“Down girl. It’s been a very long time for me, so I need to… ease back into it all. Also, figure my shit out.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Go home.” _What… the fuck._

“This cannot be happening again. I will NOT leave here, I will not lose you again. I’m going to fucking lose my mind before all of this-” And his hands are on her face and he is kissing her again. And they cling to each other like they are the last two people on this earth. He pulls away.

“I’m not-God, of course I’m not asking you to leave for good. Do you see what I look like right now? Christ, I’m a hot fucking mess. Did you not hear me before?” _Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry-shit._ “Love, I’m completely broken without you.” She nods through her tears. “But what I do need is some space to figure out if I’m going to-WHEN when I’mgoing to leave the church and if I need to go to fucking rehab or-I just. I just need to put myself back together before we can be together. Because I don’t want to be broken for you. And now that you’re here again, like fucking magic, I’m going to be fine.” He laughs, reveling in that. “I’m going to be fucking fine.”

“Right, okay.” Pulling herself together. Slightly better. “So, I’ll just… go then.” She starts walking out, but he grabs her wrist again. _Fucking typical men who don’t know what they want_.He pulls her back in, and kisses her, short and sweet. “Now you may go.” She smirks.

“Yes, Father.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too.”

+

**Author's Note:**

> Drop some kudos/a review if you're feeling kind!


End file.
